


at the end of the day, i'm still here with you

by arithmadick2_0 (orphan_account)



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Quintis - Freeform, hints of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/arithmadick2_0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're used to each other now, they're home for each other now. It's how his arms wrap around her and everything seems okay and how her hand takes his and the air settles for a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at the end of the day, i'm still here with you

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the show, its characters or plots or anything.
> 
> Thanks to Jaimee and Nicole for betaing.

She’s gotten used to the familiar _tick_ that seems to run through his apartment. How his blinds are always closed when they go to bed but open when she wakes up, that he opens them to allow the sunlight to stream through. There’s an ever-present smell of coffee with hints of cologne and take out and she comes to realize that she associates this sent with home and comfort. She commits to memory how his eyes are when she first wakes up next to him on lazy mornings: soft but protective, flecks of gold dancing through the brown.  It hits her one time, that she didn’t mean for any of this to happen but she’s so, _so_ , grateful it did.

He loves her smile. The way that, whether it’s big or small, it shines into her eyes and radiates through her and whenever he sees it he can’t believe in violence or poverty or anything other than perfection for just this one moment. The way she looks in his clothes, how she wears them comfortably, and she always gives the garment back smelling like her and he tells her she looks amazing without anything on. His bathroom is split in two now, a side for her things and a side for his with everything jumbled after rushed mornings accented by bumped elbows and quick kisses before saving the world. It’s once in the early hours of dawn when he’s looking at her, really _seeing_ her, he realizes he’d be dead in the water without her and he’s so thankful he isn’t.

* * *

“I love you.”

It’s whispered against his chest in the wind down from whichever form of heaven they were just in. She doesn’t say it often, not nearly as much as he does, but when she murmurs it it goes paired with a kiss to his flesh and somehow through all the bullets and fire this small action makes it all seem worth it. Maybe because she’s worth it and he hasn’t had someone like her -- to be so bold and witty and _there_ \-- ever, so he’s not letting her go.

* * *

“You’re okay.”

Of all the things she loves about him, this isn’t one of them. When he goes to the tables and not to her and she can’t understand _why_ and she needs to. Needs him to know she’s here for him even if she’s bad with words and awful with consolation. That she’ll hold him and listen and at least to try to love him back into loving himself. His head is flush against her collarbone, her skilled hands running through his hair and the repetitiveness of the motion lulled him to sleep a while ago. When he wakes his eyes meet hers and the softness in them is something rare. Leaning up lightly to kiss her, she hums the words quietly and he offers an apology but she shakes her head, squeezing his hand and drifting off herself.

* * *

“Talk to me.”

She’s closing up again, but it’s second nature. This last case chewed them up and spit them out. Walter has a broken wrist, Sylvester a sprained ankle, and Happy’s lucky she can still breathe. She’d been showering him with “I’m fine” ever since they found her under the rubble and he’d been countering her each time. They’re used to injuries, have normalized the thought of dying but a thought isn’t a bomb that causes a building to collapse and Paige praying that they won’t find her with cold eyes and pale skin. He’s learned her by now. He knows that the nightmares will come with an extra cup of coffee until she pulls him down to her and asks him to take it all away until her body is only bare and emotions so raw she has no choice except to talk to him. But tonight isn’t that night. He can see her reeling, accepting each fill of her lungs as a miracle and exhaling with a silent thank you.

* * *

“I’m here.”

It’s said too often. After gunshots ring out or blades have drawn blood, always to each other in a hushed tone between kisses of fear and hugs of relief. He’s bleeding, a cut to his forehead and he’s been trying to reassure her it’s not that deep; she chooses to believe him even though she’s learned to know when he’s lying and this sounds very close to it. Repeating the words until her throat is dry she stays in the ambulance with him, shoving off Cabe’s hands and Paige’s worried glances. It’s not until his breathing evens and his hand takes hers that she exhales with a smile and tells him one more time that she isn’t going anywhere, and he better lay off the next case.

* * *

 

“I do.”

  
The words escape their mouths on August 19th with a million promises in tow. There’s tears falling down her cheeks and into the flowers he picked out, a ring on his finger that she made and a matching one on hers. The team’s all smiling and they are too when their lips meet. Even though they’ve done this an infinite amount of times before she almost _swears_ there’s fireworks going off when they connect. Knowing him, there might be. He pulls back, setting a piece of hair behind her hair and taking her hand with an unspoken vow to never let it go. She holds on just as tight to him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in a while. To me it seems like a fic but almost not a fic just by the nature of how it was written, no one main plot or anything? But I really liked this so.


End file.
